


if i go to bed, baby can i take you?

by marriedtheghost



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriedtheghost/pseuds/marriedtheghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has other friends. He does, it's just — it's Nick. Nick fucking Grimshaw, who Harry's had a crush on since he was fourteen, who was the first guy Harry ever jerked off thinking about. Shit, does that make him a starfucker?</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i go to bed, baby can i take you?

**Author's Note:**

> title from m.i.a.'s "bad girls". small warning for harry being underage at the time -- he's seventeen here, they both know it, obviously. it's not a big thing.
> 
> i'm on tumblr [here](http://crucio.tumblr.com) if you'd like!

"Whoa, hey." Nick stops Harry on the threshold of the sitting room, knuckles gentle against his stomach as he laughs and holds Harry back. "D'you want a drink?" he asks, licking over his lips. Harry tracks the movement with his eyes, feeling his face heat up, and he just wants to get back to kissing and then maybe some touching, maybe some fucking after that, but he feels himself nodding anyway.

"Yeah, alright," he says, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans and gracefully waiting until Nick's got his back turned before he scrubs at his face.

He lets out a deep breath and looks around, taking in the cozy looking furniture and the art on the walls. It's not exactly what he pictured when he thought of Nick fucking grimshaw's hip london flat when he'd watch T4 back home; there's a lot of framed photos of what Harry's guessing are his family and friends, loads of fluffy pillows and warm looking blankets all over the sofas. They look handmade, and Harry conjures up this image of Nick's aging nan knitting him a chunky throw for christmas every year because she can't really remember the sort of things he's interested in, imagines a cupboard somewhere overflowing with all these nan blankets that Nick doesn't know what to do with but can't bring himself to give away.

"What are you smiling about?" Harry looks up, eyes wide, and tries to tamp down the smile stretching across his face so he doesn't seem like an absolute nutter. Nick laughs again, but it doesn't seem unkind, so Harry lets himself keep the grin. "Beer alright? Forgot I drank the last bottle of wine on Saturday, as you do."

"Beer's great," Harry nods. He purposefully avoids mentioning that he's still seventeen, because while Nick doesn't really seem to care, Harry's not keen on potentially ruining any chance he might have. No matter how much he's heard that Nick doesn't mind them young, he thinks reminding Nick that he's not even allowed to drink yet might work against him, in the long run.

There's a bit of a lull where Harry thinks it might turn awkward soon, but then Nick laughs again like he was maybe thinking the same thing, and it's weird but it's not bad. They've hung out together a few times already and there hasn't been a dull or uncomfortable moment between them, and Harry thinks he's not reading too far into it to think maybe the presence of one now means they might be thinking the same thing: that neither of them want this night to end without having seen each other naked.

Of course, then Harry starts thinking maybe the silence is because he kissed Nick as soon as they got inside, hands pushing up under his coat to tug at his shirt, and now he seems like a starfucker, and Nick just really isn't interested. That the drink is a peace offering. A distraction. A _here, take this and stop throwing yourself at me, you child._

Harry coughs and fixes his fringe, suddenly needing to look anywhere that isn't at Nick. "I like your flat," he says. "The framed butterflies are nice. Very cool."

"Yeah," Nick says, a bit like he's just humoring him, and Harry looks up just in time to catch the tail end of an eye roll. "They're sick."

"Heeey."

There's a crinkle at the edge of Nick's eyes that suggests he's still laughing at Harry, just maybe on the inside, but Harry really doesn't mind all that much. He'd probably be laughing at himself, too. 

He follows suit when Nick sets his beer down on the kitchen table, deciding to just try his luck while he's still got a chance, and takes a half step forward.

Nick doesn't move back, but he doesn't move forward either, just stands there watching Harry and playing with the bracelets around his wrists, looking neither interested or put off. Harry kind of falters at that, thinking maybe he did read all this wrong, maybe he is too young, or Nick doesn't think he's fit, or — god, what if he sees Harry as a little brother? Like an annoying little brother that just follows him around a bunch because he doesn't have any other friends?

Harry has other friends. He does, it's just — it's Nick. Nick fucking Grimshaw, who Harry's had a crush on since he was fourteen, who was the first guy Harry ever jerked off thinking about. Shit, does that make him a starfucker?

Just as Harry looks down and backs off he hears movement, and then Nick is there, cupping his cheeks and tilting his face up and kissing him again, just like that. It's much less rushed than when Harry jumped on him the moment they walked through the door, more careful almost, and when Nick licks his mouth open slow like that Harry actually whimpers low in his throat. Fuck, way too keen, that, but Nick doesn't push him away or laugh or anything; his fingers actually tighten around Harry's jaw and Harry pushes his up under Nick's shirt and digs into the flesh of his hips, leaning in closer.

After a moment Nick does pull away, and Harry sways forward, chasing his lips. Nick stops him with another quiet, croaky laugh and a palm flat on his chest.

"You sure about this?" 

Harry doesn't even hesitate before nodding, "Yes, yeah, of course," throwing his arms around Nick's neck and pulling him into another kiss much closer in nature to the one from before. 

This time Nick doesn't push him away, and Harry gets as good as he gives, moaning when Nick bites at his bottom lip and knocking his hip painfully into the edge of the table when he tries to get them impossibly closer. He gets a generous ass squeeze for his hardships, which just gives him enough leverage to rock his hips up against Nick's, hard in his jeans already so Nick can feel it. Just in case he still wasn't sure if Harry was sure.

"Jesus, Harry," Nick groans, digs his fingers harder into the flesh of Harry's ass through his jeans, so Harry thinks he actually lifts an inch or so off the ground for half a second.

"Is your bedroom as sick as the rest of your flat?" Harry manages, breathing hard against Nick's mouth and going near crosseyed trying to look at him from so close.

Nick sucks Harry's bottom lip into his mouth, pulls away with a nip. "Sicker."

Nick's bedroom is a short walk down the hall opposite the one they had come in from, lined with more framed photographs that Harry doesn't—can't—take the time to inspect. He manages to get Nick's and his own coat off on the way with minimal effort and only one near accident where he shouldered painfully into a sharp corner, but it's made better when Nick pulls his shirt off and presses his mouth to the soon to be bruise.

"Feels nice," he sighs, then goes a bit more red in the face because it sounds like such a cheesy line, like maybe next he'll say something about Nick being a big boy, and god, Harry really needs to stop watching so much porn. This is way better already, anyway.

Nick stops him again when Harry goes for the zip of his jeans, but Harry cuts him off before he can ask again if Harry's really up for this. He appreciates it, he really does, but there's only so many times he can be asked before answering becomes a chore and he just really wants to get on with it. He's been fantasizing about this for almost four bloody years, of course he's sure.

"Can I suck you off?" he asks.

That makes Nick clamp his mouth shut, and Harry watches as he swallows right before he nods, feeling very satisfied with himself indeed. It's almost enough to cover up the nerves.

He gets Nick over to the edge of the bed and lets him sit down before he sinks to his knees, feeling a bit wobbly on the way and having to steady himself with his hands on Nick's thighs. Seeing how hard Nick is, straining against the fly of his trousers, boosts Harry's ego immensely, and he almost can't believe it when he cups Nick through the fabric and feels him twitch his hips up. He did that. He got Nick bloody Grimshaw hard just from kissing and a little grinding, sure, but it was all him. Hell yes.

There's a part of him that wants to take his time, go the porny route and rub him through his jeans and maybe try to suck him through his pants, but there's a bigger part that's telling Harry to hurry the fuck up because his hands are shaking and he doesn't want Nick to notice, for some reason, just how badly he wants this. Though he has a sneaking suspicion he's not very good at hiding it regardless.

Nick is helpful in getting his jeans and pants down around his ankles, lifts his hips when Harry goes to pull them down and sort of leans back in a way that lets Harry really look at him, flushed and hard, and — bigger, than Harry thought he'd be. Hairier. Not hairy enough to be off putting, but he's fuzzy from his ankles to his thighs and all around his cock, more than any other guy Harry's seen naked, even the ones in porn, and it's fucking hot. 

Harry trails his fingers up from the top of his knees to the inside of his thighs, pushing against the growth direction of the hair, feeling it prick and tickle between his knuckles, like he's never seen or felt anything like it. He hasn't, to be fair; his own leg hair is much thinner, lighter, and while Nick's not untidy he's also not shaved his pubes as closely as Harry tends to do. But that's just because Harry's sometimes grows in patches, and it's sort of sparse to begin with still, so he just shaves it to be done with it, really, and not because he particularly likes the look.

He likes _Nick's_ look. He almost forgets he's meant to be sucking Nick's cock, because Nick's not moving and just seems to be letting him touch, except Harry's mouth is watering an embarrassing amount and eventually he doesn't want to wait any longer, angles Nick's cock so he can take it halfway into his mouth immediately.

Nick's hips twitch up once, and Harry tries to brace himself with a hand on his thigh, but then he sighs and stills and Harry feels a hand pushing through his hair. He opens his eyes and looks up, dragging the flat of his tongue over the underside of Nick's cock, watches as Nick's eyes blink open and he tightens his grip on Harry's hair when he notices him looking. 

Harry hasn't done this too many times before, and Nick is thick enough that his jaw starts aching extremely quickly, which is unfortunate; Harry's had so many fantasies about having Nick come in his mouth that it's disappointing when he has to pull off and rub at his jaw, trying to duck his head enough so Nick doesn't notice.

"Hey," Nick starts, sounding dangerously like he's about to comfort Harry, which he absolutely does not want or need. He sounds out of breath and well on his way to wrecked, though, so that's good.

"You taste good," Harry cuts him off, grinning up at him as he starts stroking him tightly. He hadn't even gone down on him for very long and his voice is already scratchy, and fuck, that's so hot to Harry, that Nick was the cause of it. That it was Nick's dick in his mouth, that he'll carry it around with him even after he's gone home and wanked thinking about it. 

Nick laughs like Harry's caught him off guard, and Harry loves the sound of it, loves knowing he might have affected Nick just as much, that maybe he can get away with covering his relative inexperience with charm. 

"You've got a really nice mouth," he says, leaning back on his elbows and lifting his hips in a way that Harry takes as a suggestion to keep going. 

He doesn't really want to, is the thing. Well, he does, but. 

"Got a nicer arse," he strokes Nick to the very tip, presses a wet kiss there, "You should fuck me."

Much to Harry's delight it has the intended effect: Nick lifts his hips again, shuddering through an exhale just as a blurt of precome drips over Harry's fingers. He leans in and, eyes still connected to Nick's, licks it up.

"Yeah, fuck," Nick says, "Alright."

Harry must strip himself out of his trousers and boxers in record time, even quicker than Nick got out of his, but then Harry's jeans are nowhere near and tight as Nick's were, and he's got the added benefit of standing up. While Harry's busy with that Nick stands up and steps out of his pants, stops Harry's hands—fucking again—when he goes to take off Nick's shirt.

"Have you, ah," he licks over his lips, and Harry tries really hard not to whine or grumble or tell him to shut up, "Have you done this before?"

"Yes," he says quickly, wanting to get this part over with, "Once." it's not a lie, though Harry does leave out the part where the other boy was just as inexperienced as he was, and it lasted all of 45 seconds, but Nick seems to believe him anyway and doesn't press it, just nods and leads him over to the lay on the bed. 

Harry situates himself comfortably back against the pillows, spreading his legs and stroking himself while he watches Nick rummage through a drawer next to his bed, lip caught between his teeth. When Nick turns back he pauses when his eyes land on Harry, and Harry grins, biting down harder on his lip and dropping his knees open, because he's either going big or he's going home. And he'd really, really hate to go home now. 

Not that he thinks Nick would kick him out for being nervous or anything, but— 

"God, you're bloody gorgeous," Nick says, then looks kind of embarrassed, like maybe he shouldn't have said that and he kind of wants to take it back, which Harry kind of hates, because it makes him _feel_ gorgeous, and proud, like when he's done something well and somebody he cares about tells him so.

"Thanks, so are you," he raises up onto his elbows and stops touching himself, balling his hands into fists instead. "Could you fuck me now? Please?"

Harry thinks it should move pretty quickly after that, but Nick is astonishingly gentle, takes his time opening Harry up with his fingers, gets three deep before Harry starts shaking and digging his fingers into the bedsheets and he stops, smoothing his dry hand over Harry's stomach as it quivers. It'd be embarrassing if Nick didn't seem to find it so hot, so Harry lets go, stops biting back every quiet little sound when Nick strokes his fingers back inside him. Harry comes soon after that, one hand fisted in his hair and the other pulling up the corner of Nick's sheets while Nick jerks him at the same pace his fingers press in and out, all before he even gets his own shirt off.

When he does finally pull his shirt off he lays next to Harry, licks into his panting mouth while Harry strokes over the hair on his chest and doesn't even go fully soft before he's hard again. 

"Fuck me," Harry says again, rocking against Nick's hip. 

Third time must be a charm, because Nick doesn't hesitate. Harry opens the condom for him while he climbs between his legs, but Nick has to take it from him and roll it down onto himself because Harry keeps fumbling it. He's not nervous anymore, just shaky from his orgasm still, and he feels it down to his toes when Nick hitches his legs up and pushes in. 

He moves slow at first, lets Harry get used to it, but he's still panting and Nick still feels huge inside him, the slow drag somehow heightening the sensation. Harry moans deep in his chest, drags his nails down Nick's chest and grabs his hips, pulling him flush against his ass and gasping when Nick snaps forward.

"Fuck, Harry," Nick grinds in deep, and Harry rocks up to meet him, panting and gasping in the small space between them. Nicks leans down and catches him in a kiss, and Harry moans against him, bites his lip, dragging it through his teeth. Nick isn't gentle after that. He leans back and pulls Harry into his lap, holds Harry's hips so he can fuck up into him at just the right angle so that every time Harry thinks he's caught his breath, it's knocked right out of him again. 

He wraps his arms around Nick's neck and holds on, mouth dropped open with a moan or a whimper getting fucked out of him on every other breath, and he doesn't even get a hand on himself before he's coming a second time, just the friction between them and Nick pressing in deep enough to get him off.

It seems a bit lazy and unhelpful for Harry not to give Nick a hand after he pulls out, but he can barely move except to lift his head off the pillow once he's laid down and watch as Nick wanks himself off. It's probably the hottest thing Harry's ever seen, he thinks, then feels immediately guilty, because just the week before he'd watched himself slide into Caroline and thought _that_ was the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

He is only seventeen, though. There's still loads of things he'll see that he'll think are the hottest things ever at the time, probably, he just can't think of what they could possibly be.


End file.
